The Oracle of Zeus at Dodona

Though not as famous as the Oracle of Delphi, the Oracle of Dodona — arguably the oldest of all the Oracles — was likely just as powerful, if not more so.  It was Zeus’s Oracle, and Zeus was king of the gods.

Few places on earth are considered to house a spiritual vortex.  Dodona in Greece and Sedona, Arizona are two examples.  Many who visit them feel a strong connection to a higher power, be it mother earth, Gaia — the personification of earth in Greek mythology — God, or something else.

Pre-dating the stadium, temple and other architectural elements at the site, a sacred oak grew at Dodona.  Selli priestesses would lay at its roots with unwashed feet, divining prophecy from the rustle of its leaves.  Was it Gaia’s voice they heard?

In, “The Dodona Prophecy”, readers are taken to the Oracle of Dodona in ancient Greece where Mandy meets the Selli priestesses, experiences a vision, and learns more than she set out to.

The Legend of Io

Her head suddenly heavy, Io looked down at her bony legs and clunky hooves. Moments earlier, Zeus had caressed her shapely — decidedly not bovine — form. Like many of her nymph sisters the world over, Io simply couldn’t resist the king of gods.

She knew the risks. Hera, his wife, had a habit of showing up at inopportune times, leaving a trail of cursed adultresses and coconspirators in her wake. And now here she was.

Really, Zeus — a cow? He could’ve transformed her into anything. A graceful swan. An eagle. But a white heifer? That hurt.

Oh, no. Here she comes, Io thought, lowering her head.

Hera stepped forward, glared at Zeus, and then at her. Io could tell by the look in her eyes, she wasn’t buying it. What would Zeus be doing with a cow?

Io’s stomach clenched. This wouldn’t end well.

She dipped her tongue into the river at her feet, and lapped at the water, trying to act the part. How did cows drink anyway?

Her ear turned to the conversation, dreading what she might hear. A quiver shook her hide as she waited for the axe to fall.

Hera’s voice was cold. “Zeus, husband. Who do we have here?”

Io forced herself not to look.

“To whom do you refer, dear? The white heifer?”

Silence. Never a good sign. Io began to sweat through her hide. She stopped licking at the stream. She couldn’t swallow anyway.

“Get back to Olympus, Zeus. There are urgent matters to attend to,” Hera said.

There was only one god who could get away with issuing a command to the king of gods and she was standing right there.

“I’ll be along shortly,” he said.

“Now. Unless there are matters here that demand your attention. The white heifer, perhaps?”

He was trapped — faced with admitting his indiscretion or leaving her to face Hera alone. It didn’t take him long to decide.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

With an ear splitting crack, he was gone.

Io didn’t move. Maybe if she prayed hard enough, Hera would let her live — not that that was such a great prize. She was a cow. Wasn’t that punishment enough?

Finally, Hera spoke. “Do you think me an imbecile?”

Io turned to face her. Shamed. Penitent… Sorry.

“You nymphs just can’t keep your filthy hands off my husband, can you? You shall serve as an example to the others. I see Zeus has already done half the job for me, you fat, lumbering cow. You may live as such, with my blessing.”

Hera uttered a hex of some kind. Io flinched at a sharp pinch on her hindquarters.

“And that is my blessing,” Hera said. “This stinging gadfly shall be your constant companion, to remind you of your folly. Now, be gone.”

Io lumbered away, feeling the welt of the first sting swell as the sting of another pinched again.

Epilogue (from the Greek legends):

Io roamed the earth for many years, tormented by the stinging gad fly. At a particularly low point, nearly driven mad, she came across Prometheus, bound to a rock at the shores of the black sea. An eagle was forever eating out his liver — punishment from Zeus for giving man fire.

Despite his pain, Prometheus was kind to Io, assuring her that she wouldn’t remain a heifer forever. Someday she’d be transformed back to human and be part of the ancestry of a great hero, Hercules.

Eventually, Io did escape across the Ionian Sea to Egypt where Zeus transformed her back to human. Both the Ionian sea and the Bosporus are named after the legend of Io. (The Greek translation for Bosporus is cattle-passage, where Io crossed the strait before meeting with Prometheus.)

Athena and Zeus Backstory

In The Medusa Legacy, my debut fantasy thriller series, I weave a modern-day tale into some popular Greek myth. Below, I have provided some backstory relevant to the first two books involving Zeus and Athena.


Upon hearing a prophecy that his offspring with Metis, Goddess of Wisdom, would rule the heavens, Zeus was more than a little worried. That was his job and he wasn’t near ready to relinquish it. He’d worked hard to attain his new position as king of the Gods, ruler of the heavens. And knew all too well what it took to get there.

It had been a Herculean task, wresting rule from his father’s hands, but Cronus needed to go. Out with the Titans, in with the Olympians.

So, when his wife became pregnant, quite possibly with a child that would usurp his newly acquired position, Zeus took action. Borrowing a page from Cronus’s handbook on how to deal with threat and uncertainty, he swallowed his pregnant wife whole.

Why risk it? Problem solved.


Athena’s relationship with her father, Zeus, was understandably strained. She’d spent her entire youth imprisoned inside of him. That was no way to rear a child.

Not to mention, he never did relinquish her mother from his fleshy tomb. That hurt.

God of Justice, she seethed. What had Metis ever done to him?

With no nurtured maternal instincts, Athena eschewed the whole nasty motherhood business, declaring herself a virginal Goddess.

Men? Children? Who needed ’em.

Goddess of War? Sure. What the hell.

Goddess of heroic endeavor? Sure… Might come in handy someday.

So, Athena, more than a little pissed, kept her sentiments to herself. Preferring the indirect approach, she was too smart to go toe-to-toe with the king of Gods. There were other ways to hurt the old man.


“Son of a bitch! Do it! Do it now!” Zeus commanded his son, Hephaestus, to cleave apart his skull with the double-bladed axe. The pressure in his head was more than he could bear.

With a flash of light and shower of gold, Zeus’s cranium split open and Athena sprang free, fully armored and ready for battle. Her battle cry pealed over the island of Rhodes, announcing her arrival.

Zeus pushed his skull back together, his ears ringing from the banshee wail of Athena’s release. Raising his thunderbolt, he considered for a moment to take action. But she was a woman. No threat there.

Besides, she reminded him of Metis; they’d been good together once. Maybe he’d been hasty in swallowing her before he’d even known whether she was bearing him a son or a daughter.

Yet, over time, as Zeus got to know Athena, he started to question the wisdom of letting her live. At every turn, she undermined his command. His friends warned him of giving her too much latitude, letting her disobedience go unchecked for way too long. He was running out of patience.

From the moment of her emergence, Zeus’s and Athena’s relationship ranged from uneasy truce to opposite sides of the epic conflict of Troy (Athena and Poseidon siding with the Greeks; Zeus with the Trojans). The backstory blurb above demonstrates there are two sides to every story.

In my first book, the Medusa Deception, Zeus’s tolerance of Athena’s actions and her inner motivations are brought to light, uncovering more deception and knife-twisting than was ever known.

In the sequel, the Dodona Prophecy, the conflict between Zeus and Athena comes to a head, with Mandy caught in the middle.

I get a kick out of researching the ancient myths, reading between the lines and putting my own spin on them. I hope you enjoy them too.

Please watch for The Dodona Prophecy, book two in the series, due out in 2015.

The Myth Twister